


Dance the Night Away

by LonghornLetters



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff and Crack, Inspired by Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonghornLetters/pseuds/LonghornLetters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pop culture is useless, right?  Well, maybe not if you're trying to seduce your blogger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rude Boys

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based on the following headcanon I saw from willietheplaidjacket:  
> I don’t know what’s better: the image of Sherlock getting drunk, sticking Rude Boy by Rihanna on and mouthing the words to John while dancing sexily…Or John doing that to Sherlock.
> 
> Well, theoretically, it's eventually going to be both. I'm starting with Sherlock because why not.  
> I do hope you enjoy.

One of the consequences of John’s decision to indoctrinate Sherlock with a working knowledge of pop culture was deviously inventive ways he would put the knowledge to use.  Case in point: the situation John Watson found himself in on New Year’s Eve.

Neither John nor Sherlock were much for raucous parties, so the end of the year found them ensconced in 221B with a shared bottle of Oban and Sherlock’s iPod on shuffle.  Sherlock’s taste in music veered rather unpredictably from classical composers to punk and pop that John could almost believe Sherlock liked solely because it had irritated Mycroft in their youth.

By the time the clock was approaching midnight, both Sherlock and John were sat together on the sofa in a loose tangle of limbs.  They were deep enough into the scotch that the world had a lovely, golden-edged haze and the fact that Sherlock knew all the lyrics to “No Scrubs” struck John as incredibly funny.

“Since when do you know who TLC is?”  John asked, poking his elbow into Sherlock’s ribs.

“Oh, you know how it is,” Sherlock answered with a dismissive wave of his half empty glass.  “Case took me to a club after some information, and that song seemed like the only thing anyone wanted to dance to that year.”

“I guess,” John conceded.  “Seems a bit, I don’t know, common for you.”  Sherlock smiled and let his head rest against John’s shoulder.  

“Being able to blend in will never be a useless skill,” Sherlock stated wisely into his glass before draining the last of his scotch.

“Hey,” John said after a few minutes of silence, “You know the words to any of the other songs on there?”

“I might,” Sherlock said, a devilish glint lighting his eyes.  He jumped up and stepped across the coffee table to cross to the iPod dock sitting on their mantel.  He hummed softly as he scrolled through the songs, and John smiled at the unconscious bob of his head and sway of his hips. “Ah, here it is.”

Sherlock whipped around to face John on the opening downbeat, a lascivious smile lighting up his whole face.  He ran his hands through his hair, ruffling up the curls, and winked at John.

_Come here_

_Rude boy, boy_

_Can you get it up_

_Come here_

_Rude boy, boy_

_Is you big enough_

Sherlock lip-syncing should have been downright silly, but the slow roll of his hips and the way he ran his hands down his chest while his eyes fluttered closed turned this demonstration of pop culture awareness into something else entirely.  He met John’s eye on the next line, and John smirked knowingly and patted his lap in blatant invitation.

Sherlock continued singing along with the track as he reached for the button and zip of his jeans.  A little push from his hands to move them on their way, and Sherlock let the sway of his body and gravity carry them down to the floor.  By the time he and Rihanna made it through the opening lines the second time, Sherlock had planted himself astride John’s lap in just his shirt and pants.

_Tonight_

_Imma let you_

_Be the captain._

Sherlock dragged his hands down John’s chest to reach up under his jumper.  John raised his arms and let Sherlock pull the offending garment off over his head.  Sherlock ran his hands across John’s chest and hummed in appreciation while John just smiled

_Tonight_

_Imma let you_

_Do your thing, yeah._

John worked his way down the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt until he could push it off his shoulders.  Sherlock braced himself on John’s shoulders and threw his head back and ground his hips down, causing John to buck up to meet him.  Sherlock’s ragged moan almost caused him to lose his place in the song.

_...Imma let you_

_Be a rider_

_Giddy up_

_Giddy up_

_Giddy up, babe_

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck and leaned in to murmur the lyrics directly into John’s ear in a voice like a finely-tuned motorbike while he let his whole body from shoulders to hips undulate in filthy promise against John’s lap.

John reached up to tangle his fingers in the curls at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, and the rest of his demonstration was lost to John choosing that moment to seize his mouth in a scorching kiss.  Sherlock continued to gyrate to the music, and John continued to tangle their tongues in a much more intimate dance.  

John pulled back just enough when the fireworks started going off outside their window to whisper, “Happy New Year, gorgeous.”

Sherlock smiled and wrapped his hands around John’s neck to pull him in for one, last New Year’s kiss, “And the same to you, John.”  

The iPod had switched tracks while they had been distracted, and Sherlock pushed himself up to standing and started walking away towards their bedroom with a slight bum wiggle as the only indication of his earlier dancing prowess, “Bed, John?”

“Only if you promise to finish what you started,” John said, jumping up to follow.

“Well, I will tonight,” Sherlock said with mock thoughtfulness, “But only if you promise to show me what you can do with the iPod some other time.”

“Oh, you can bet your sweet arse I will,” John responded, smacking Sherlock’s bum as he rushed past before turning to grab him by the hands and drag him into their bedroom.

 


	2. Play On Play That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's John's turn now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I settled on Blackstreet's "No Diggity" for John because I was watching Ali G and thinking about what I wanted John to use to try to seduce Sherlock and all of the mid-90's goodness wouldn't leave me alone.

John was slow to retaliate after Sherlock’s New Year’s Eve striptease.   His delay, he reasoned after an hour scrolling through the music on his phone, centered on the fact that his usual taste in music didn’t exactly lend itself to the kind of performance he had in mind.  John had to firmly remind himself on several occasions that forcing the issue wouldn’t be nearly as fun as Sherlock’s “Rude Boy” had been.

A week into the new year found John studiously avoiding confronting his musical seduction dilemma by flipping idly through the movies on offer on the Netflix Harry had given them for Christmas to “keep that mad flatmate of yours occupied.”  In reality, it was much better at keeping John occupied when he didn’t have clinic hours and there was no case on.  John selected a movie from Sherlock’s queue that looked like an early-90’s hip-hop explosion simply because the description looked mindless enough to suit his mood.

Twenty minutes into the movie, inspiration hit.  John abandoned his lazy afternoon to call his sister.  Fortunately, she picked up on the second ring.

“Johnny?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Um, I’ve got kind of a weird favour to ask.  Do you still have those CDs from when we were in uni?  You know, that case we shared?”  John silently prayed she wouldn’t ask questions.  I want to try to find a song off one of them to give my boyfriend a lap dance wasn’t really the material of sibling bonding.

“I’m afraid not.”  Harry sounded genuinely sorry she couldn’t give John the answer he wanted.  “I couldn’t remember the last time I listened to any of them, so I gave the lot to the jumble the last time they came around collecting.”

“That’s fine,” John said trying to conceal his disappointment.  He was about to let it go and try to figure something else out when another thought occurred to him, “Harry, d’you think you could help me figure out what a song on one of those discs was called?”

“I don’t know, Johnny,” Harry said doubtfully.  “There were an awful lot of CDs in that case.  What do you remember about the song you want?”

“Um, I know it was new while we were still in uni.”  He hedged trying to wrack his brain for anything else he could remember about that song.  “Oh, I remember the guy in the room next to me thought the words to the chorus were ‘no dignity when I back it up.’”

“I remember that song!”  Harry interrupted.  “I think I even remember the real words.  Give me a bit on Google and I’ll text you.”

 

~~*~~

 

John proceeded to hum and gyrate his way through his next four days at the clinic while he relearned the song and refined his gameplan.  He ended up staying late on Friday to catch up with all of his charting, so by the time he got home, Sherlock was unpacking Chinese takeaway for dinner.  John hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes before he wandered into the kitchen and extracted some wine from the refrigerator to go with their food.

A plate of lo mein and half a bottle of wine each later, John and Sherlock were curled together on the sofa with Sherlock’s iPod once again serenading them from its spot on the mantel.  Even though he felt warm and content rolled into the afghan with Sherlock and comfortably mellow from the wine, John didn’t dare let his guard down; this was the opportune moment.

Sherlock kissed his way slowly up John’s neck to his ear and murmured, “I’m still waiting, you know.”

“Waiting?”  John played dumb.  “Waiting for what?”  

“You know very well for what,” Sherlock responded, letting a note of petulance creep into his voice.  John wasn’t fooled for an instant.

“Well,” John said, letting the suspense build as long as he dared, “I may have found a little something you might like, but I don’t think I know all the words the way you did.”  Sherlock’s look of open-mouthed anticipation had an extra edge since he was giving John the same calculating stare he gave a truly exciting crime scene.

John got up and pushed pause on Sherlock’s iPod before he went to their desk and fired up his laptop.  Clicking through his media player until he found what he wanted took long enough that when he glanced up, Sherlock’s initial excitement had mellowed into a simmering expectancy that burned behind his eyes as he polished off the last of his drink.

One deep breath to steady his nerves, and he clicked play.  The beat that picked up as soon as he hit play buoyed his confidence, and the back and forth of the simple guitar riff and a man humming helped relax John’s jitters into a smooth roll of his torso that he let end with a little snap of his hips on the downbeat.

> _Yo Dre, drop the verse._
> 
> _It's going down, fade to Blackstreet..._
> 
> _I put it down, never slouch_

John refused to let his imperfect knowledge of the lyrics put him off, so he sang what he knew while he went to work unbuttoning and shedding his cardigan.  He glanced up through the fringe of his eyelashes to see Sherlock staring at him avidly.  John flicked his head to beckon Sherlock over, and he was up and over the coffee table in a single bound.  As soon as he got close enough, John snaked his arm around Sherlock’s waist and pulled him into a close embrace.  

> _Shorty get down, good Lord_
> 
> _Baby got 'em open all over town_
> 
> _Strickly biz she don't play around_
> 
> _Cover much grounds_
> 
> _Got game by the pound_

John’s voice was a low hum in Sherlock’s ear as he sang along softly.  He drew Sherlock into the slow, rolling gyration of his hips, smiling when Sherlock followed willingly.

> _By no means average_
> 
> _She's on when she's got to have it_
> 
> _Baby you’re a perfect 10, I wanna get in_
> 
> _Can I get down so I can win_

John pulled Sherlock closer and insinuated his leg between Sherlock’s.  He plucked idly at the buttons on John’s shirt as he lost himself in the feel of John’s thigh rubbing in a constant grind against his now fully hard cock.  John untucked Sherlock’s shirt from his trousers so he could run his hands across Sherlock’s taut stomach.

“John,” Sherlock mumbled sounding lost.  He let his cheek drop against John’s temple.

“Shh,” John soothed.  “I told you I could keep up with your musical seduction.”

> _Let me tell you how it goes_
> 
> _Curve's the word, spin's the verb_
> 
> _Lovers it curves so freak what you heard_

John let his hands drift down until he could grab Sherlock’s belt.  He used it to steer Sherlock until he flopped backwards into his chair.  John followed him down and kissed him until they were both breathless.  When John pulled back gasping, Sherlock’s eyes drifted open slowly.  He met John’s gaze and smiled.  

> _I like the way you work it_
> 
> _Trump tight all day, everyday_
> 
> _You're blowing my mind, maybe in time_
> 
> _Baby I can get you in my ride_

“So,” John asked, smirking at Sherlock’s helplessly addled expression, “I know it’s not Rihanna, but--”   
Sherlock surged up and seized John’s mouth in a scorching, bruising kiss.  When he pulled away, he kept John’s lip trapped between his teeth until John whined and pulled him back to finish their snog.  

“No diggity.” Sherlock hummed against John's lips.  Another kiss, softer this time. “No doubt.”


End file.
